


Where do you think you're going?

by hitandhope



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23773819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitandhope/pseuds/hitandhope
Summary: An alternative Winterfell reunion
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Game of Thrones or its characters I merely write my fic then carefully replace the stone as I found it. Pretty much.  
> Please be aware there is swearing because this is Sandor...  
> This is an alternative reunion of Sansa and Sandor at Winterfell during Series 8. I have used quite a bit dialogue from the programme, and from the TV reunion itself. I've just changed and added a few things...  
> My inspiration for this fic is Dire Strait's song Where do you think you're going? I have wanted to write a Sandor/Sanda fic based on this song for about a year but I never had the muse. There is a lot of pressure too as this fandom is full of some of the best fanfics I've read.  
> For me, the entire of their relationship is summed up by the song, so it's less of a songfic but more of a foundation.  
> Ok I have rambled enough. I have read it several times but I expect mistakes still to remain.  
> Once again, I own nothing. Not Game of Thrones, nor the characters, not the lines for the programme, nor Dire Strait's incredible lyrics which give this fic its title and feature in full at the end of the work.

Maybe it was because it has been a while since he’d navigated a castle, or perhaps it was the wine, or even the dimly lit corridors which meant he could barely see past his own arm. Whatever the reason, he reluctantly had to admit that he seemed to be lost.

‘Buggering hells’ he murmured to no one in particular, thinking of how many flagons deep in wine he should have been rather than traipsing round the place like a helpless maiden.

  
It was being distracted by these grumblings that he blamed for almost walking into the unsuspecting soul when rounding yet another identical corner. It was instinct, maybe even muscle memory that grabbed her arm to steady them both.

  
‘Clegane’

  
Of course it was her; it wouldn’t be anyone else to catch him off guard, seemingly prowling round the inner parts of Winterfell.

He was plunged back in time to a similar scenario in a different castle. He’d grabbed hold of her then too but to frighten some sense into her, to inspire some action. Back then she could not bear to look upon him, had flinched from his touch, even pleaded with him. It was a completely different tale to the woman staring back at him now.

  
‘Or shall I call you ser?’

Her eyes held him steady; they were older, wiser, with a hint of a challenge, and an undertone of something else.

‘You’ve changed little bird’ he noted gruffly releasing her arm.

‘A lot of things have changed’ she decided and her voice had a steely edge to it. He remembered the whisperings of those around him as they ate a communal supper, detailing the things he’d missed of events that had eventually led them all here. He’d once stood in a parallel corridor in what seemed to be a parallel time to try to warn her, to prevent her from living out a bloody future at the whims of abusive bastards. At the time it was Joffrey, but in the end the stories informed him that she’d been spared the blonde king, only to tumble into the clutches of a different sadist. She’d shirked and cowered all the time looking at anything but him, yet now she held his gaze unflinchingly. He commended her effort as few dared to hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds no doubt fearing they’d face wrath of his fist, or worse his sword.

  
‘Used to be you couldn’t look at me’ he remarked tearing his eyes away to look down the corridor.

  
‘I’ve seen much worse than you since then’ she teased and he knew he was on the back foot both physically and figuratively. He was in her castle, on her territory with little idea as to even where he was, and every response she parried held mirth and wisdom.

  
He thought back to her words, and there it was: the allusion to back up the gossip.

  
‘I heard you were broken in, heard you were broken in rough’ he commented and saw her swallow heavily.

  
‘And he got what he deserved, I gave it to him.’  
  
That statement piqued his interest, the thought of the little bird finding her claws, the thought of her using her voice other than to chirp pointless courtesies and naive songs about pissing knights.

  
‘How?’ he enquired the killer in him insistent to have his pound of flesh.

  
‘Hounds’ she replied simply and there it was again a jolt in his stomach that managed somehow to cut through the mantra on repeat in his brain, to penetrate his sole intent for pushing on, of surviving the horrors that were no doubt to come. All so that he could go back south and find his cunt of a brother.

  
He barked a laugh like the dog he was because he couldn’t help it, she was so different.

  
‘It wouldn’t have happened if you’d had come with me all those years ago.’ His hand twitched to reach for her again, stuck in repeat of the similar conversation they’d had but this time there was no plea to escape the future, to escape the cruelty. She’d endured it and survived, and now the little bird roamed free in the corridors of her home, no longer imprisoned in a gilded cage tweeting nervously in an attempt to please her masters. To sing the praises they wanted to hear, not what she actually wanted to say.

She caught his hand in hers ‘And what? Be fugitive indefinitely only to be caught and us both killed?’ He began to snarl his protest but she squeezed his arm firmly ‘I cannot change what happened to me, but I can choose my future and I won’t cower in fear anymore. I choose my own path.’

  
There it was again, that twitch, a flicker almost like a shifting of something. He growled to himself at the feeling she was stirring up, damn her. He thought she would recoil from him but she only regarded him as if she knew his own inner turmoil.

  
‘Don’t do that girl; don’t pretend you know about me. It’s my bloody business and you’ll keep out of it.’

He was practically baring his teeth and then she was suddenly closer so he must have taken a step towards her. He thought he had her, and that she’d complete the cycle and whimper out those damned words y _ou won’t hurt me_. Except she didn't, and for the countless time that night she surprised him once more by moving her hand to his face, and not the good side either.

  
‘What do you think you’re doing little bird’ he grated out more beast than man, suspended in frozen agony of being touched by not just another human being but by her. He should have shoved her away by now, but as he’s discovered he’s a glutton for punishment. He didn’t move, couldn’t move and the little bird was motionless too except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He'd be a liar to say he hadn't noticed and double that to say it wasn't enticing

  
There was a rustling behind them and Podrick appeared.

  
‘Forgive me my lady and erm’ he bowed to her and then trailed off with furrowed brows. His attention switched to the Hound who regarded Sansa balefully but seized the moment to stalk off and away from it, from her, and her blazing touch.

  
Buggering hells, he cursed again as his aimless wandering reprised. He still had no pissing clue how to get out of the bloody castle.


	2. Chapter 2

Tormund had spent the majority of the night lamenting the loss of his precious Brienne of fucking Tarth only to have his head turned by some serving wench. Sandor snorted into his cup, at the irony of it. One of her companions zeroed in on him and he sighed wishing he could just be alone with his drink as he planned to drink enough to drown out the memories of the worst battle he’d ever been a part of. Why was there fire again? Always fucking fire coming back to haunt him flickering bright and menacing.

He ignored her but she was not to be ignored it seemed.

‘I’m not done with my drink’ he said before emptying his cup.

‘Are you done now?’ She tried to reach for him and all he could think about was _her_. Goddamn her how dare she touch him like that? No one touched him like that, not willingly anyway. Besides it was very rarely did he want anyone to touch him, he certainly didn’t want this wench to put her hands on him. So he acted like the dog he was and growled and snarled until she ran away.

He refilled his drink and as he placed the flagon back down he caught sight of her stood near the high table. She was watching him, and had no doubt seen the little outburst just then. He raised his cup mockingly in toast and she bowed her head in return, her eyes still filled with that fucking knowing expression.

He was one of the last of out the Great Hall and stumbled back through the maze of corridors to his temporary sleeping quarters. He remembered to turn right not left that time and made it back with no mishaps. Well if he wasn’t to count the little bird standing outside his door which certainly brought him up short.

‘Well look who it is’ he taunted and her stoic mask slipped just an inch, maybe it was too much of a parallel this time or maybe she’d had time whilst she’d waited for him to see what a big fucking mistake it was to stand outside the door of a dog.

‘You managed to find your way back this time’ she tried.

‘What do you want little bird?’ he sighed pushing the door open before turning back to her stood there mute. ‘Spit it out girl I won’t stand here all night’

He grabbed her again and they were locked in the tight space of the door frame his wide build towering over her tall but slight frame. He could almost feel the heaving of her chest against his, from fear or something else he didn’t know. They were locked again in some silent battle whilst the past swirled around them shrouding them in paradox after paradox.

_You won’t hurt me  
No little bird I won’t hurt you_

_Killing is the sweetest thing there is  
  
The world is built by killers  
So you better get used to looking at them_

_Would you sing a song for me little bird?  
I don’t know any songs, not anymore_

_I could take you with me, take you to Winterfell  
I’ll keep you safe_

‘Well’ he tried again ‘cat got your tongue little bird?’ He laughed bitterly and that seemed to rouse her from her trance as she stepped out into the corridor and he dutifully released her. But he didn’t feel victory, he didn’t feel the roaring of the beast inside him in triumph that he’d done it again, pushed someone else away put them down to push him on. It never came and for the first time since he began his quest to seek out his brother something else surged up as important, it broke through the mantra fuelling him. It roared in excruciating pain as she smiled at him sadly and began to walk away.

No.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

The words to break the cycle of their conversations of the pleas, the fear, the need, yes he acknowledged that. He didn’t expect her to pause that suspension was agony in itself drawn out, waiting.  
  
She turned at the pace of a snail to regard him again.

‘It’s late I should retire, I merely wanted to ensure your safe return to your chamber.’

‘The lady of Winterfell watch out for a dog?’ he asked whilst closing the gap between them again. ‘Or maybe the little bird wants to sing a song this time?’ He rumbled his hand found her arm even though he wanted to desperately to trace the elegant line of her throat, he was not certain or rather he could not believe entirely the reason for why she was here, with him.  
  


‘Maybe she does but cannot for all the barking this dog before her insists on doing’ she snapped. Her sapphire eyes were almost luminescent in the dim light and the swirling became a tension a magnet drawing them in to the suppression of everything else – the dark night, the ongoing battle for power, his brother. In the past their interactions were ruled by the tension of fear, but not anymore, not predominantly anyway. The magnetic undercurrent that had once been buried under the layers of his abruptness, his age, her youth and her situation suddenly broke free to the foreground and chimed with the unspoken potential.

He chuckled low in his throat; she was so close now that he was able to slide her hand to her back to draw her up and closer feeling the delicious heat of her person. He paused allowing her the choice, always the choice.  
  
She nodded and placed her hand on his chest in acquiescence, and he swept them into his room the door clunking shut in finality.  
  
‘You’re more of the wolf now girl but I’ll always be a stinking hound. I have business to see to and that won’t change.’

‘I am Lady of Winterfell no husband or heir, and that won’t change either.’

‘The Bolton bastard’ he hissed and her eyes flickered shut but she did not justify him but answering. The little bird had clearly spent all her tears and pain and revenge and that was it. He wondered what it felt like to draw a line under it like that.

‘I was hoping you could show me what it should be like?’ She implored and for a second her saw the vulnerable girl he’d asked to flee with him back at the battle of Blackwater.

‘I’m no ser little bird, have you seen my face? I don’t know the world of courtly love or snivelling knights.’

She tilted her head up and he felt the wash of her breath against his lips, her eyes wide open orbs like a crystal sea he imagined of a far off land he’d never see.

‘Neither do I, Sandor.’

The words to break the thread of his resolve as he crushed her to him and a bruising kiss. Something nagged hard in the back of head and he broke apart to growl.

‘You use those claws little bird if it’s too rough, I’m no bastard in this room.’

It only made her resume their kiss with a force that almost made him stumble back, almost. He wasn’t a feared fighter for nothing.

She didn’t seem eager to do anything more than kiss for a long while and as he had not kissed anyone like this before she would hear no complaint from him. After a while her fingers fumbled with the intricate fastenings of her outfit but she managed to free herself of the top layer He too shed himself of his outer vestment and took that as a sign to guide them to the bed.  
  
He sat down and perched her on his knee hitching up her skirt so she could straddle him. She took the opportunity of their position to cradle his face

‘I’m not afraid of you Sandor, I never was not really.’

His eyes cast down as the weight of the past sank with them.

‘Didn’t make a difference’ he said gruffly.

‘But it did’ she said fervently licking her kiss swollen lips.

He snorted unconvinced and so she kissed him again, expressing through that what her lips didn’t  
 _But it did._

‘Well’ he rumbled ‘I think you better come with me girl’ and claimed her lips once more.

His hands traced the curve of her shoulders down her arms to rest on her hips marvelling at the feel of her on his lap. He knew a Lady deserved to be worshipped but he elevated her here so she knew she held the power, the control. She would not be helpless in his bed; not that he could even believe she was in his bed at all.

‘Sandor’ she breathed and hitched her skirt in such a way that it was less of a nuisance her breath was hot against his face and he was beginning to go muzzy as if he’d drunk a tavern dry.

Creamy flesh was revealed to his gaze and so he carefully, as carefully as he’d done anything in his life traced the line of her legs and up higher to her back crushing her to him.

‘Sansa’ he croaked in wonder as she rose to kneel and reached for his breeches. He took this opportunity to seek her entrance and hoped his fingers were not too rough. In this higher position he had to tilt his face up to feel her breath, gauge her breathing – laboured. He caught sight of pupil blown eyes, and felt her scrabbling fingers.

_I’m not afraid of you_

When she began to sing little whimpers of pleasure, her pleasure damp on his fingers she shifted her position and sank home.

Home.

A foreign word to a dog with only revenge on his mind, but right then buried inside the Stark girl with her hair enveloping them in a sweet curtain, her hips circling in a hypnotic rhythm, her shallow breathing in his ear and his hands roaming roaming, not on skin. But he didn’t think either of them could take it if they were skin to skin. Not knowing what they did, how their stories would end. More pressingly, he knew how _this_ would soon end and so he searched until his finger brushed, barely a whisper against the bud that fuelled a woman’s pleasure trusting and praying that it would work. She whimpered in surprise perhaps, but in pleasure too he hoped. His head fogged further and he felt his release building.

‘Little bird’ he growled warningly ‘you’d better fly now’ her head shot up and gaze locked onto his and there, there it was. Her head tilted back, eyes fluttered shut in bliss and he had to quickly but kindly lift her up before he spilled his release on to his breeches and stomach. He felt her watching him; he wasn’t stupid she couldn’t risk his bastard growing in her belly.

They took a moment to right themselves, he expected her to retreat or at least show signs of regret but for the final time she shocked him.

‘Thank you’ she said sincerely cupping his fire marred skin and looking him squarely in the eye. She lingered for a moment before donning her cloak raising her hood and disappearing, a wolf into the night, a bird liberated to fly.

_Where do you think you're going  
Don't you know it's dark outside  
Where do you think you're going  
Don't you care about my pride  
Where do you think you're going  
I think you don't know  
You got no way of knowing  
You got no place to go  
  
I understand your changes  
How long before you reach the door  
I know where you think you're going  
I know what you came here for  
And now I'm sick of joking  
You know I like you to be free  
Where do you think you're going  
I think you'd better go with me, girl  
  
You say there is no reason  
But you still find cause to doubt me  
When you ain't with me girl  
You're gonna be without me  
  
Where do you think you're going  
Don't you know it's dark outside  
Where do you think you're going  
Don't you care about my pride  
And now I'm sick of joking  
You know I like you to be free  
Where do you think you're going  
I think you'd better go with me, girl_


End file.
